gold flecked leaves that would not travel with the wind. you kissed them there, as they lay, full of wanderlust & empty of longing. i can't remember now, it's not so clear to me anymore, whether your pink & chapped lips brushed autumnal remnants, harbingers of short cold days, & gave them over to a death only slightly more dignified. like rich & sickly kings in forgotten moth-eaten robes mossy keeps & crumbling empires, you gave them over to rot, sedentary, solitary in their multitude. to rot, but not without a little glam. rememberance of days a little, if only, more resplendant. my grasp on the past is feeble.

forgive me.

maybe perhaps it was the masses of wet leaves, gathering together their last meager bits of glory, the tiny delicate whispers of life still contained in their wracked frames, that gave unto you. collectively, never forgetting greener days. they recognized in you something they themselves had. have. will always remain. looking back now i think they found you a kindred spirit, their ephmeral lives given over to yours.

forgive me. my mind is tired as my body is tired as my eyes tire of searching for meaning in the mundane.

but i can't help thinking as i rot in my throne that the kingdom you gave me was never my own.





















ae.